


the absence of color

by twistedsky



Series: the soulmate project [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedsky/pseuds/twistedsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You meet your soulmate, and you lose the ability to see in color as long as you’re emotionally connected. Death, breakups(usually for romantic soulmates), and ceasing to love someone can show themselves by the reappearance of color." Scott and Stiles are soulmates, but things between them are tense, to say the least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the absence of color

**Author's Note:**

> I may never write another soulmate au, because I am exhausted.
> 
> Anyway, Scott and Stiles have a lot of self-hatred and regret and hurt that's all tangled up in a big ball of yikes. Warnings for anxiety, depression, panic attacks, some expletives, and self-loathing. 
> 
> This fic is mostly canon through the first half of season five, except it's a universe with soulmates. I rewrote the dialogue in some scenes from canon to suit my own purposes.

**_Scott_ **

Scott can only barely remember color.

He met Stiles at such a young age that all his formative memories involve him, and since they’re soulmates, they involve a colorless existence.

It’s weird, actually, if you ask Scott. You meet your soulmate, and you lose the ability to see in color as long as you’re emotionally connected. Death, breakups(usually for romantic soulmates), and ceasing to love someone can show themselves by the reappearance of color. He's sure it's created a lot of awkward situations out there in the world. 

Scott has never had to worry about that. He’s always had Stiles, and he has never feared that he’d lose him.

Even when Scott becomes a werewolf, he worries about living, yeah, but he doesn’t worry about Stiles.

They’re soulmates. They’re best friends forever. That’s how it works.

It’s Deaton who tells him his eyes turn red once he become an alpha, it’s his mother who tells him that he’s wearing a rival school’s colors at a school basketball game.

It’s Stiles who sits and laughs with him through life, making everything bearable, even without color.

He doesn’t miss it.

~~

Scott can feel it coming.

The panic attacks, the loss of friends, the horrible sensation that something terrible is coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The realization that something terrible is already here, and you’ve already lost.

He knows something bad is coming, because these things come in waves.

He tries to hold on to Deaton’s words—regression to the mean, he tells himself. Things can’t be all bad all the time.

Eventually, they have to improve. Eventually, bad things have to stop happening.

Maybe that’s true, he thinks later.

Maybe, he thinks, things get so bad that your range of experiences only go from bad to worse and back again. 

He’s standing in front of Stiles, his soulmate, and his heart is breaking. He feels like he doesn’t even know Stiles, like he doesn’t even recognize the person in front of him.

There’s betrayal and heartbreak written all over Stiles’ face, but Scott doesn’t know how to read that. He doesn’t know how to accept that Stiles is capable of murder.

This isn’t the guy he’s always known, this isn’t—he’s wet, and cold, and everything is dark and grey, but Scott can see faint color.

It terrifies him.

He opens his mouth, and he’s not sure what he expects to say, but Stiles’ eyes are widening, and he looks like he’s been slapped in the face.

“Stiles, no—“ Scott says, but what is he supposed to say?

“You don’t believe me,” Stiles says, like he doesn’t know how to believe _that._

Scott doesn't understand what he's even talking about, what is he supposed to believe? 

Stiles turns around and leaves, and Scott wants to go after him, but doesn’t know how.

He doesn’t know if he even recognizes himself enough to be able to bring the Stiles he knows back.

There’s only barest bit of color around the edges of his vision, and he thinks that might scare him more than anything.

He doesn’t just think he’s losing Stiles—he actually is.

~~

He dies.

He doesn’t stay dead, but he’s _dead_.

In that moment, something changes.

It’s not darkness that fills him. There’s pain, and something altogether terrifying, but more than that there’s a renewed sense of vigor.

He can’t keep living like this.

They all need to make things right. They need to be a pack again, because that’s all that they have: each other.

They can’t lose that.

~~

**_Stiles_ **

There’s a moment when his vision is completely flooded with color.

It lasts several seconds, and Stiles isn’t sure what to do.

It’s different than that moment when he’d been standing in the rain with Scott.

Does this mean that Scott has fully given up on him, on _them_?

Stiles pushes this from his head, and focuses on his dad.

Inside, he’s seething with anger and hurt.

~~

There’s flickers of color, back and forth. He’s not sure if it’s himself or Scott who is unsure, who can’t decide if there’s still hope.

It’s probably both of them, but Stiles is trying to hold on to his anger.

Killing Donovan was an accident, and Scott is acting like he doesn’t understand that, like he doesn’t understand what it’s like to fight for your survival.

Stiles resents him for that.

Stiles tries to focus on his dad, and hoping that he gets better.

When he sees Scott, he erupts, and color floods back into him completely, and it’s like a switch has been flipped.

He knows it's him this time.

It hurts, but it’s almost a relief.

Stiles feels the loss of their connection, and while it feels completely empty, that’s a good thing. He feels nothing at all.

It’s better this way.

~~

“We have to work together,” Scott says. “I know things are complicated—“ he hesitates, and trails off. “But I don’t want any more of us to die.”

They’re all standing there as a group, and Stiles sees everything perfectly.

They’ve lost too much.

He looks at Scott, who is staring down at his hands on the table they’re sitting at.

“We’ll do this,” Stiles says. “Because we have to. And then we can all go our separate ways.”

It’s almost funny, you know, that such a thing had once scared him.

Now, it’s a comfort.

This, at least, is what he tells himself.

Everyone nods their agreement.

The alternative is that they continue to let themselves be picked off, one by one.

Stiles would rather not die over this supernatural bullshit.

He looks around at Lydia’s beautiful strawberry blond hair, and at Malia’s blue sweater, and Kira’s yellow backpack.

The world will be better this way, he tells himself. This is a good thing.

It’s more beautiful this way. It’s hard to deny the appeal of seeing in color for the rest of his life.

~~

**_Scott_ **

It’s over.

They’re alive.

Everything is going to be okay.

The truth has been revealed. “I’m sorry,” Scott says softly, trying to reach out a hand to Stiles.

“I don’t really want to talk to you right now,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “We saved everyone. We’re done now.”

“Stiles—“ Scott starts to say. He stops. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he can possibly do to make things better.

It’s a misunderstanding. It’s a terrible reason to lose your soulmate.

“I miss us,” Scott says. “I miss—“

“I don’t,” Stiles says without hesitation. “I don’t miss black and white,and shades of grey. I don’t miss feeling like I was second best to you, always.” 

“You’ve never been second best,” Scott says quickly, without hesitation.

Stiles looks at him like he doesn’t quite believe him. “We’re graduating soon.”

“I know,” Scott says. “Which is why we need to make things right, we can’t go off to college like this.”

“Sure we can,” Stiles says. “Because there’s no more _we_. It’s not the same anymore. We have a whole big, beautiful world out there. Our friendship? It’s not—“ he breathes in deeply, shakily.

“Stiles,” Scott says. “You’re my best friend.”

“No,” Stiles replies wearily. “Not anymore.”

~~

_**Stiles** _

Stiles regrets the words as soon as they come out.

There are two more months till graduation, and then summer, and then the rest of their lives.

Stiles has never been able to imagine his life without Scott.

Color is nice, and it’s easy to tell himself that Scott has only hurt the people he loves, and he’s only ever made Stiles’ life harder, but it’s a little harder to fully believe that.

But the words come out, and Stiles can see the hurt on Scott’s face.

This isn’t Scott’s fault. It’s Theo’s—Theo, who sowed dissent at every turn, who tore them apart.

Their friendship is in ruins, their soulmate connection has been severed.

Stiles feels more lost than he’s ever felt before.

“It’ll be okay,” Malia tells him when he explains what happened.

She says it in that casual way she does when she genuinely believes something, but doesn’t really understand it.

She’s fearless, and strong, and that’s why he loves her.

But she also doesn’t really get it.

 _No,_ it won’t get better, he wants to say.

He feels like part of his heart has been broken off and sealed away.

The part of him that loves Scott _hurts_. It aches inside of him, like phantom pain in the place of what he's lost.

~~

The righteous anger is easy, but it has faded so quickly as to leave Stiles completely aimless and lost.

They’ve been through a lot, and sometimes Stiles is so overwhelmed he feels like he can’t breathe.

He thinks of Scott, and Scott’s inhaler, and that sends him down a path of self-loathing and resentment.

Stiles isn’t sure if he’s angrier at Scott, or himself.

So instead, he stares. He glares at Scott, and tries to ignore how much he feels like he’s lost.

~~

**_Scott_ **

“You don’t have to keep staring,” Scott says. “We don’t have to do this.”

Stiles looks away from him, like he’s embarrassed that he’s been caught. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Scott doesn’t need special werewolf lie detection to know that that’s not true.

They’re at school, and Scott is standing in front of Stiles’ lunch table. Malia is looking back and forth between them carefully.

“Stiles, I don’t want things to be like this.”

“I don’t either,” Stiles bites off, but it just makes him so angry, and he can’t quite articulate it. _You should have believed me. You should have understood. You should have trusted me_.

He doesn’t say any of these things, because clearly Scott doesn’t understand that.

He doesn't let himself think of the other obvious things. It's his fault too, but it's easier to blame Scott.

The anger is back in such full force that all he can think about is how much he doesn’t want to be friends with Scott McCall anymore.

Stiles can’t keep looking at the hurt on Scott’s face, so he looks at Malia, who looks thoughtful, like she’s just figured out something important.

It’s the same look she gets when she successfully completes a math assignment.

Scott walks away, and Stiles feels his sigh in his bones.

“We should break up,” Malia says softly then.

“What?” Stiles shakes his head, bringing himself back to the moment, staring at his girlfriend.

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” Malia says, and reaches out a hand and tentatively takes his in her own. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“What do you get?” Stiles asks. He has no idea what she’s talking about.

She’s shaking her head again. “We’ll still be friends,” she says, like that’s it. There’s nothing left to say about it, there’s no ugly breakup, no angsty argument. They’re done.

She goes back to eating then, and Stiles just sits there.

He stares at his perfectly red apple, and the brown wheat bread he made his sandwich with.

No soulmate, and now no more girlfriend.

At least he knows the colors of his food, he thinks bitterly.

~~

_**Scott** _

Graduation is bittersweet.

His mother is proud and happy—Deaton is there, supportive as ever, and even his dad has shown up for the day.

His friends are there, and so is Stiles. Scott isn’t really sure what Stiles is.

Scott tries to focus on the day, on what it all means, and what’s coming next.

He’s excited, he is, but there’s a dark cloud over everything, and this is not how he wanted this to go.

This is not the way that things are supposed to be.

They’re supposed to be together.

Scott looks over at Stiles, whose dad is hugging him tightly, telling him how proud he is.

Scott looks at his mom, who is laughing with Lydia’s mom.

It’s all wrong.

~~

_**Stiles** _

Lydia has a party.

Stiles goes, because it’s Lydia, it’s a graduation party, and he leaves in a month for a summer program at Berkeley. This is it. This is his chance to say goodbye for now, see you later.

Stiles knows that Scott will be there, and maybe part of him wants that. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye.

It’s time to let go. This, at least, is what Stiles tells himself.

Scott shows up a little after Stiles does, and he tries not to look at him, but he’s already had two beers, and his brain is going just fuzzy enough that he can’t help himself.

Stiles watches Scott.

He watches him hug Lydia and kiss Malia’s cheek and greet half their graduating class with that stupid happy smile of his.

He doesn’t even look like he’s really happy, which makes it worse.

Stiles knows Scott well enough to know that, even if he barely even recognizes him anymore. Some aspects of a relationship die slowly.

“Stop moping,” Malia says, sidling up to him. “Go make up with Scott.”

“I can’t,” Stiles says, and he believes it, he really does. What’s he supposed to say, after all?

“You can,” Malia insists. She sounds firm and solid, and it reminds him a lot of Lydia.

They’re both so strong in important ways, and Stiles envies them.

He feels weak, and scared, and foolish.

He’s staring at Scott again—like he ever even stopped, hah—and Scott hasn’t looked at him.

“He’s afraid to even look at me,” Stiles says, and sometimes he doesn’t even know what to say. Is he supposed to apologize to Scott? Or is Scott supposed to apologize to him?

Maybe they’re both wrong. Maybe—Stiles stops that train of thought, because there’s no sense in lying to himself.

Their friendship is over, and his life is better for it. He looks down at the gross brown of his beer bottle, and at the ugly light blue carpet he’s standing on.

This is life in color, in pure, vibrant _everything_. This is a life that’s supposed to feel fuller than the one with Scott in it.

(Stiles can’t help it, he still misses Scott.)

~~  
Scott is the one who approaches Stiles.

He’s tentative, afraid.

Stiles doesn’t blame him. He wishes things were different, wishes they were stronger, wishes he didn’t hate himself for wanting Scott to be perfect, wishes he didn’t hate Scott for being _human_ above all else.

He wishes he didn't hate himself for not being stronger too.

“I—“ Scott says, and for a moment Stiles almost thinks the world fades a little.

Everything seems colorless and awful.

Stiles doesn’t think that even has anything to do with him actually seeing color.

And then, he gets it.

“I don’t want us to be over,” Scott says. “I want—“

Stiles is afraid, and he hesitates, and he can see the hurt in Scott’s face, but he feels like he can’t breathe.

He can’t speak, he can’t—“Me too,” he barely chokes out.

“I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do,” Scott says, with an easy smile, and it feels like the entire world lightens up, like it takes a deep breath.

Stiles wants to say a lot of things. He wants to point out that he’s leaving soon, and they’re barely going to see each other anyway. They won’t be super far away from each other, but they won’t be in the same town, they won’t see each other every day, they—they wasted time, he realizes now, and it’s like he’s been slapped in the face.

Their friendship is broken, and they need to repair it, and they don’t have _time_.

They can’t go back to the way things were before. They can’t just be Scott and Stiles, Stiles and Scott, without judgment.

“Maybe there’s nothing we can do,” Stiles says now. “Maybe it’s too late, maybe we’re past saving, maybe we just have to cut our loss—“ Scott reaches over and hugs Stiles tightly.

Stiles tenses up, but then he just releases a deep breath.

For a moment, everything is purely in black and white, and Stiles just gets to hug his best friend.

The color flickers back in gently, but not as intensely as before.

Stiles holds on, and so does Scott. If it weren’t graduation night, then maybe more of the people surrounding them would care that they’re just standing in the middle of the room hugging.

Instead, it’s just the two of them, and everyone is off in their own world.

Stiles closes his eyes, and breathes.

This, he thinks, is the only cure for a broken heart.

~~

_**Scott** _

They have twenty-nine days until Stiles leaves. Scott doesn’t leave for UC Davis until late August, but that doesn’t matter.

For now, they’re in a rush, desperate to fix things that can’t be fixed this quickly.

They don’t even know where to start, and so they start with nothing.

They lie out in the middle of a forest, staring up at the sky and trying to figure out what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, and Scott looks over at him and sighs.

“Me too.”

They need to get into this, they need to talk it out, need to figure out where the cracks in their friendship came from, so that they can fix them.

Instead, Scott reaches over and puts his hand over Stiles’s, and they look up at the stars.

There’s a rock digging into his spine, but Scott ignores it. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to risk upsetting their delicate peace.

~~

It’s not just about the hurt, or the fact that they didn’t believe in each other, it’s that they’ve broken their trust. There’s something tenuous between them now, something that they have to be careful not to break, because if they do, then there’s no coming back.

And so, they do what they’ve always done.

They hang out, they play video games, they eat all of Scott’s mom’s snacks.

They talk about werewolves and banshees and werecoyotes.

They talk about girls and breakups, and then quickly change the subject.

They broke up.

It’s weird to think of it like that, but they did.

This is their friendship, and for a while it had seemed like it might end forever.

It was serious, and painful, and it felt like a breakup, and so that’s what it was.

And this—this is some strange in-between feeling, where Scott feels like he’s on egg shells.

He thinks that they’re just trying to feel normal again, like maybe if they can just spend five perfect minutes together, where things aren’t hard, then maybe they’ll be okay.

They’re not quite there yet.

Scott looks sideways at Stiles, who is intently focused on the game they’re playing.

Scott is already losing at this point anyway, so he gives himself a moment.

He looks at Stiles, and hopes he never loses him again.

~~

_**Stiles** _

There’s something tense between them. Stiles isn’t sure what it is, doesn’t know how to handle it.

It feels like it’s building to something though. If things were different, then Stiles would just ask Scott if he feels the same way, if he’s feeling that same sort of anxious panic.

But he can’t.

He can’t even figure how to put the words together. Talking to Scott has always been pretty easy, because he understands the meanings of his flaily hand movements. It makes it easier when your best friend speaks the same language that you do.

Sometimes, even when they’re sitting next to each other, Stiles feels like they’re not even on the same planet.

The days count down too quickly, and Stiles is packed and ready to go, and starting to worry.

He’s not ready. They’re not ready, their friendship isn’t ready yet.

Stiles feels angry, or tense, or maybe both. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how to decipher what he’s feeling.

Scott keeps looking at him like he’s concerned, like he can tell that something’s wrong, but he just doesn’t know what to say.

And so, here they are.

~~

_**Scott** _

“I’ll miss you,” Scott whispers into Stiles’s ear.

Stiles doesn’t say anything back, but that’s okay. Scott gets it. He’s getting a little choked up himself. He wants to say hey, it’s just allergies, but he’s a werewolf.

It’s probably not allergies.

They’re not ready for this. They’re not fixed, they’re still broken.

They make promises to call and text and skype, but Scott’s not sure if that’s going to be enough.

Maybe nothing will be.

"I already miss you," Stiles says then, and Scott's heart squeezes tightly, and he doesn't want to let go, so he just keeps hugging Stiles, like somehow it'll stop this from happening.

It doesn't.

~~

_**Stiles** _

Stiles doesn’t even know how the fight starts.

They’re skyping, it’s simple. They’re just supposed to be catching up about classes and clubs, and the most innocuous stuff in the world.

Stiles’s roommate is in the room, and he honestly hopes the guy isn’t listening.

One moment, Stiles is saying, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make it home for Thanksgiving.”

Scott looks disappointed, but he smiles sympathetically. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Stiles says, and he feels angry, and doesn’t know why.

He sounds angry too. He can tell from the look on Scott’s face.

He looks hurt.

“It won’t be long until Christmas,” Scott says, like that’s supposed to make Stiles feel better.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Whatever.”

The whatever is only there to start a fight, to escalate things further. This is it’s only purpose.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks now, because he’s a good friend, and not trying to start a fight like Stiles is.

But Stiles is upset, and he’s not sure why.

“Oh yeah, fine,” Stiles bites off. “I’m just going to be stuck here over Thanksgiving with nothing to do but study, and my dad is going to be completely alone except his girlfriend for the first time ever. But yeah, great.” He’s pretty sure he’s drowning in sarcasm at this point, but that’s just life, isn’t it?

Everything sucks.

“Stiles, I—“ Scott starts to say, but Stiles just shakes his head and cuts him off.

“Anyway, I have to go.”

He ends the call, and stares at his laptop, and he feels awful.

He feels like a jackass, and that’s probably because he is.

“You should have just told him,” Stiles’s roommate Alex says. “Your boyfriend probably would have visited your dad to keep him company.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Stiles says, and it’s not the first time. “And it’s not about that. He—he's Scott. He’ll probably do that anyway.”

“Then why are you mad at him?” Alex asks, like it’s the most obvious question in the world.

“I—“ Stiles hesitates, then frowns. “I don’t know,” he admits. Maybe it’s because they haven’t really forgiven each other, or because their friendship will never fully recover, but Stiles can’t let himself believe that.

Alex nods his head, then lets out a deep breath. “That reminds me of me and my girlfriend,” he says, then turns back to finish doing his biochem homework.

“What?” Stiles asks, a little baffled.

“We used to fight about stuff instead of just telling each other how we felt, or what he wanted. Like, instead of just saying that she didn’t want to go out to a movie, that she just wanted some time for the two of us, she’d just nitpick about the movie. Or, like, I’d get all weird and distant and angry with her instead of telling her that I missed her. It’s easy stuff, but when communication breaks down, it’s impossible.”

“That—“ Stiles frowns even more heavily. “That’s not what this is.”

“Yeah,” Alex says with a shrug. “But it sounds a lot like it. You just want to go home and spend Thanksgiving with your dad and Scott, and you can’t. So you’re being an asshole.”

“You should probably drop that psych minor,” Stiles says. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Alex smiles slightly,and it rankles Stiles to no end. “Yeah, sure.”

~~

Stiles has too long to think.

He’s got school—projects and papers and exams to study for—but it’s not enough.

He’s on an intramural lacrosse team and he’s in a math club, but no matter how much he takes on, it doesn’t allow his brain to die down.

He can’t stop thinking about what Alex said about his girlfriend, about how sometimes people are assholes because they care about each other and aren't emotionally mature enough to express it properly.

Stiles doesn’t want to think that that.

Scott has been his best friend his entire life, and he isn’t in love with him or anything, right?

He would have known before now.

But maybe—maybe he did, and he misread it.

Maybe this feeling he has, maybe it’s love, and he’s never been able to see it clearly before.

No, he tells himself.

Sometimes friends are a little in love with each other, right? Some friendships are so deep, so integral to who you are that they cross lines. He and Scott are soulmates, and that makes the line even blurrier.

That’s all this is.

~~

_**Scott** _

Scott hugs Stiles first, before he even manages to do anything other than step out of the jeep.

He’d missed him.

Sometimes it feels like they’re so broken, there’s no way to fix them.

But holding Stiles like this? This is _right_ in ways that Scott has never questioned.

Stiles is looking at him strangely now, like he’s thinking too seriously about something he’s conflicted about.

Scott feels tentative. He wants to ask Stiles what’s wrong, but he’s not sure how well it’ll be received. Things have been tense for a long time.

He just wants things to go back to normal.

But normal would be asking, because they’re best friends, and that’s what you do.

“Are you okay?” he asks then, and Stiles stiffens slightly before releasing all of the tension in his body and hugging Scott even tighter.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and he sounds almost afraid. “I am now.”

~~

_**Stiles** _

He’s fucked.

He’s in love with Scott, like really in love, like he wants to pretty much hug Scott all the time and make out and cuddle and probably do a lot more than that.

Stiles has always kind of had that thing where he’s vaguely attracted to dudes, so this isn’t too hard, it’s just that it’s _Scott,_ which is basically terrifying.

They’re hanging out, and it’s fairly normal.

They’re watching some movie about werewolves, and Stiles keeps asking if Scott’s related to them, even though that’s not how it even _works_ , man.

But it makes Scott smile every time, and sometimes he even laughs, which twists up Stiles’ insides in the most exquisite painful, beautiful way.

And that’s where he messes up.

They’re laughing about the movie, something ridiculous that Stiles only even barely notices, but Scott is laughing and it’s infectious, so he can’t help himself.

“You know I love you, dude, but there’s only so many more of these terrible monster movies I can take,” Scott says, and he’s smiling, like he’s not even serious.

Stiles freezes up, even though these are words that he’s heard a million times before.

They mean exactly what they’ve always meant.

Scott looks concerned now, and he won’t stop looking at Stiles like he’s trying to figure him out, which is the last thing that Stiles wants.

“Is it too soon?” Scott asks then. “I just—I know things have been really hard, and I just want things to be normal again.”

Stiles nods, and clears his throat. “We’re good,” he says. “Totally good.”

Scott frowns, and shakes his head. “No,’” he says gently, reaching out a hand and softly placing it over one of Stiles’ hands. “You don’t believe that.”

“It’s not fair to use your werewolf superpowers on me,” Stiles says, and it comes out rougher than he means it.

"I'm not," Scott says, and he sounds frustrated. "I just know you well enough to know that." He actually sounds upset, which makes Stiles feel worse.

Stiles pulls his hand out from under Scott’s, and he intends to start babbling about pretty much anything, maybe deflect and make weird excuses and change the subject, but then he looks at Scott, who looks so hurt that it pulls at his own heart.

Stiles closes the distance between them and holds Scott close, resting his forehead gently against Scott’s. “Listen,” he says softly. “We’re okay.”

“You want to try that again?” Scott asks anxiously.

“I’m not upset with you,” Stiles says.

“Okay,” Scott says, agreeing. “What’s wrong?”

They’re close, so close, so close. Stiles can barely breathe, and he certainly can’t think straight, surprise, surprise.

Stiles tilts his head slightly. It’d be so easy to close the distance between their lips, to just kiss and say screw it, but he doesn’t.

He thinks this is obvious.

Scott can either pull away, and they’ll pretend that this thing that Stiles feels isn’t real, or he won’t, and, well, Stiles isn’t sure what happens then.

“Oh,” Scott breathes out, and Stiles can’t read that simple syllable, doesn’t know what’s going on in Scott’s head.

Stiles moves slightly, excruciatingly slowly, and then they’re kissing.

He feels like he’s being electrocuted, but in a good way, if that even remotely makes sense.

He stops thinking, and just gives in.

~~

**_Scott_ **

_Oh._

This is easy. Too easy, maybe, but Scott tries not to think about that.

He slips into the easy sense of Stiles, and everything feels right between them in such an intense way it’s almost like this was always supposed to happen.

Maybe it should have.

Maybe they were wasting time before—and yet, Scott doesn’t regret loving Allison or Kira. Nothing will ever change how important they are to him.

But this is different.

It’s funny, because he’s heard stories of soulmates who grow to hate each other because of the loss of color, because their lives are less vibrant, and it starts to feel like a cavernous void inside of them.

It doesn’t feel like that for Scott.

This is new and fresh and unknown. It might fail quickly, and things will be hard and confusing again, but in all honesty, Scott’s not sure if things have ever stopped being hard and confusing.

At least now he has Stiles, and whatever this is between them.

The world feels brighter and more alive now in simple shades of grey than it ever did without Stiles.

~~

**_Stiles_ **

(For the record, Stiles feels exactly the same way.)


End file.
